


My Big Fat Kadaran Wedding

by snappleducated



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-03 13:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11533281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snappleducated/pseuds/snappleducated
Summary: Seriously, just look at the title. How can I even write a summary? You already have all the information you need.





	1. indisposé

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AgathaCrispy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgathaCrispy/gifts).



> **Notes** : Drabble collection that grew from a series of conversations with AgathaCrispy about a Reyder wedding, in all of its absurdities. To be updated as, um, I feel like it. Don't you dare expect anything from me on this one. DO NOT.

“I can’t believe I did this.”

“Champagne?”

There were no real downsides to accepting. She had already  _gotten married_. “Okay. Yes, sure. Please.”

Reyes poured. Ryder hid her face in her hands so she wouldn’t have to look at all the gleaming, silver-veined marble and white leather upholstery. Even if she’d somehow forgotten the proceedings of the night before, the hotel suite she’d awoken to couldn’t possibly have screamed SHOTGUN WEDDING more desperately.

“Madame.”

Ryder peeked up, and snatched away her champagne flute, taking care to ensure that the comforter was drawn almost rigidly across her breast. “ _Mademoiselle_ ,” she corrected, and sipped.

Reyes grinned. “Nope. I’m right.”

“Oh.” She watched him drink. He even looked sexy while sipping pink champagne. The fucking nerve. “ _Oh_ ,” Ryder said again, now with a bit more of a wail added in. “Oh no. I’m a  _Madame_.” Reyes dropped into the bed beside her, looking slightly predatory. Ryder scooted away. “Stop that. You look like you want to bother me.”

“It’s a look?”

“You wear it constantly,” Ryder hissed. Reyes reclined, stretching down to his toes. In Ryder’s opinion, he made a pretty elaborate show of yawning.

“You’ve got me all wrong. I’m the romantic type.” He flipped up one arrogant brow. “Why do you think I _married_ you?”

Ryder yelped. A single, indignant yelp that was weighed equally with mortification, surprise, and the dread of telling Scott. And Cora.

“ _I have to use the restroom_ ,” Ryder squeaked out, her voice unnaturally garbled. And she swiftly fled.

She was crouched behind the shower curtain, frantically searching for cosmetic surgeons who would so successfully alter her face that she would be able to disappear and not have to tell people about this moment, ever, when Reyes found her. He looked down into the tub, still seeming incredibly satisfied with himself. “You can’t run.” He held up his hand. “We got matching GPS rings implanted.”

“No.” Ryder stared at his hand, the faint scar. No wonder her finger hurt. “Oh, fuck. Fuck. We did. That is…definitely a breach of military secrets.”

“I think it’s cool. I can feel your heartbeat.” He crouched down, peering over the rim of the tub at her.

“Is that what it is? I thought it was bruised.” Ryder bit her lip, staring at her own finger. It was kind of cool. In a mushy, horrible way that she was definitely  _not into_.

He was looking at her a little less playfully now. “We can keep it a secret, if you want.”

The idea was tempting in its lack of conflict. Ryder quivered. No. No, she could _do this_ , god damn it! She shot to her feet. “It’s fine! I’m the Pathfinder, and I  _saved this galaxy_ , and I marry who I want!”

“Way to go.” Reyes sipped his champagne, grinning. Ryder ignored that his face was basically now crotch-level.

She raised her hands, closing her fingers into fists. “I am an  _adult_  and I am not scared of my brother or Cora!”

“Almost convincing.”

“I love this man and I’m going to  _be with him_!” she cried. Her finger was definitely throbbing. Reyes set down his champagne glass, and stood. He took a lazy step forward. Ryder dropped her arms. “Don’t you dare act cool, you’re heart’s beating like you’ve run a marathon.”

“I can’t help it. You’re too honest.” He reached to flick on the taps, and hot water began to pool over Ryder’s feet. Reyes stepped into the tub, and leaned over her until her back was forced into a corner. “I just wanna eat you up.”

* * *

Eventually, she did get back to the Tempest. And her crew. And a bar. The bar, in Ryder’s opinion, was important. After a significant period of deliberation, she had concluded that her old strategy of telling people unpleasant news while they were inebriated would likely work well for her, especially given everyone’s rather negative opinion towards her husband. _Husband_. Ugh.

Three rounds in, she info-dumped. And she did it while speaking as quickly as possible. The side-conversations, which she’d hoped would continue over her, dropped off. Her crew simply stared, fixedly, until she’d petered out with a weak, “So, yeah.”

Cora took a pointed shot of gin, and immediately raised her hand to order another. “You have to do it again.”

Ryder pretended not to hear this. “So. I realize that this is all sort of, um, unexpected. I agree. I also thought I would be slaying ass until my mid-fifties. I, also, am sort of judgmental about people who get married in their early twenties. But I would like us all to, collectively, take a step back.”

“Shut up,” Liam said, as Cora continued to swell. Ryder did not want to shut up. She had significant defending to do.

“I would also like to remind everyone that they are important to me. This won’t change anything. You should still think of me as the same, good ol’ Ryder. You know. Who’s cool.”

“I have a question!” Peebee interrupted. She had raised one hand straight into the air, mockingly. “Yes, hi. Me.” With dread, Ryder nodded for her to continue. Peebee grinned, now simpering. “So I mean, I might not know everything about this, but it kind of sounds like you slid through one of the most emotionally significant parts of your life with a lot of cheap vodka and a few quickies.”

Ryder’s face strained to melt itself. “That is a fair assessment.”

“You have to do it again,” Cora demanded, again. “You have to do it  _right_.”

“Is it bad?” Jaal whispered to Liam. Liam clapped Jaal on the shoulder.

“Oh, super trashy.”

“Hey,” Ryder interrupted, now becoming sort of offended. “It isn’t. It wasn’t  _trashy_. The bathroom was like all white marble. And it had a nice bathtub.”

“Do you even remember it?” Vetra snorted, then continued before Ryder could defender herself. “I mean  _before_ you woke up the next morning?”

Ryder ground her teeth. She hadn’t thought that Vetra, of all people, would be on her case for skimping on sentiment. “Do you want a play-by-play?”

“We’re doing it again,” Cora announced. She lurched out of the booth they'd crammed themselves into, and positioned herself at the head of the table, which she also slapped for attention. Ryder stared, shocked. Cora had never broken rank before - certainly not over something  _personal_ and  _stupid_ and no doubt _ragingly uncool_.

“Alright.” Cora clapped her hands together. “Vetra. Find a venue.”

“Wait,” Ryder protested. She was ignored. Tasks were assigned, seemingly at the speed of light. Cora was in a fury of organizing, her hair growing more disheveled by the moment. Ryder’s stomach burned with regret. She never should have broken the news during shore leave. She should have dropped the bomb in the middle of a firefight, let the bullets and the enemies act as her cover. Without duty to distract her, Cora became unstoppable.

Ryder turned desperately towards Liam, hoping for salvation from her fellow human. Liam raised his eyebrows, his lips pursed. With _judgment_.

“Don’t look at me that way,” Ryder growled. “I’d like to see you try to resist.”

“Easy.” Liam said, very calmly. Ryder barked out a derisive, shouting sort of laugh.

“You think your sexual orientation would be enough to save you? Think again.” She leaned over the table, her eyes wide with meaning. “I got fucking  _married_ , Kosta. Married. Me!”

“Yeah, I know. We all know.”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Ryder stressed. “I’m cool.”

“You’re an idiot.” Liam told her. He was rolling his beer bottle’s lip against his own mouth, eyes hooded. “I’d follow you anywhere, but seriously, Pathfinder.  _Married_.” He pointed at her ring finger, the fresh scar. “And we have to dig that out, you know.”

Ryder’s fingers curled into a fist. “Ugh,” she said. It was all she had left.

“Don’t worry,” Cora said, now rising from the table. She was clutching her gin to her chest. She pointed aggressively at Ryder. “I’ll take care of things.”

“What things?” Ryder asked. Her trepidation rose. “Cora. I’m not getting married. I mean, I’m not publicly getting married. I mean, _again_.”

“Ryder.” Cora turned, looking coolly over one shoulder as she tipped back the rest of her drink. Did she pop one hip? Unbelievable. “If you’re going to do dumb shit, at least mine it for easy public morale.”

“Who  _are_ you?” Ryder demanded. Cora was already leaving. “Hey. Harper.  _Hey_!” There was nothing else for it. She was going to have to end this, before things went any further. Cora had three days off. Ryder shuddered to think what could be accomplished in that time. Cora was a very efficient person. At this rate there would be paper lanterns and hors d'oeuvres.

Ryder began to scramble over Drack, who was boxing her into the table’s booth. The old Krogan, at least, had stayed largely silent during the whole wedding discussion, save the occasional roar towards the vids playing on the screens in the bar’s corners. Ryder spared them a glance, curious. On screen: biotic soccer in zero gravity. With guns. _Jesus_.

She was halfway across Drack’s lap and that much closer to tackling Cora, when Suvi appeared, throwing her arms around Ryder’s waist, and sighing throatily. It was a wet, emotional sort of sigh. The Tempest crew was not even supposed to be off the ship. Someone must have messaged her. _Who else knew_? “Ryder,” Suvi breathed. “I heard the news. I just wanted to say, I’ve got something for ye. As a wedding present.”

“Oh my god,” Ryder said. She had too many feelings. Just, way too many. And not nearly enough mobility. Suvi drew a great, shuddering breath, deep enough that Ryder could feel the rattle in her own chest. “It’s some lace things,” Suvi breathed. “From my mam.”

“I have. I mean. I have underwear.  _I have sexy underwear_ ,” Ryder stressed. She reminded herself that what Suvi was offering was sweet, probably. Thrice owned lacy things. She tried to gently pry Suvi off. Drack was elbowing them out of his way, craning to see the screens.  

“No, I mean,” Suvi protested, her grip tightening. “ _No_. Not lingerie. Christening gowns.”

“I have to go.” Ryder stressed. She was not thinking about this. _She was not thinking about this_.

“It would mean so much to me,” Suvi pressed. She had been forced off enough so that Ryder could now see the dewy, attractive shine of sweat and emotion on Suvi’s face. “It’s just, you know. I like girls. So I thought, well. I probably won’t have kids. But my mam—”

“I got it,” Ryder squeaked. Cora was long gone. The Suvi threat was now a greater, more sensitive crisis. She could only handle so much at once. “I got it! Okay. Okay, yes. Thanks.”

“Really?” Suvi beamed. She smashed their bodies back into a tight embrace. “I’m so happy!”

“Enough,” Drack decided, and dumped them both onto the floor.


	2. destiné à

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** As usual I must thank my beta and primary share-holder _AgathaCrispy_ , but this one also was inspired by a comment made by _monolade_ . Y'all going down with me.

The GPS ring was a stupid idea. Ryder said as much, to herself, multiple times. She was rehearsing the speech she was about to give to Reyes as she let herself into the weirdly dirty bar her tracker had pointed her towards. Seriously,  _so dirty_.

There were a few more people waiting inside than she’d expected. Most of them had weapons, now pointed at her, the intruder. Ryder froze, outraged, already glaring at Reyes. _Her_ people didn’t point guns at _him_. Most of the time.

“Excuse me, did anyone invite the Pathfinder?” Keema asked. Keema was also in the room. So were other people. They generally appeared to be space pirates and ruffians, and also, her _husband_. She thought the fullness of his title and position with ruthlessness, with mental over-enunciation. It was mortifying and a suitable punishment for her own impropriety.

Reyes gestured in a sweeping, non-committal way. “Everyone, la jefa.”

“Fuck off,” Ryder responded, automatically. Reyes beamed at her. He looked proud. She wanted to trample her own feelings out of existence, and bury the remains.

“What is that supposed to mean?” one of the suspicious looking guys asked. Reyes answered without ever looking away from Ryder’s face, still wearing an odd, challenging little smile.

“It means she’s my Pathfinder.”

“I’m everybody’s Pathfinder,” Ryder sulked. Reyes raised his eyebrows, just a little.

“No.”

Keema had obviously had enough of them. “So, I’m to assume that the reason the Initiative’s Pathfinder--”

“ _My Pathfinder_.”

“--the reason the Pathfinder was able to join us, on our secret meeting, in an undisclosed location, I am to assume that all of this can be traced back to something that you did? Some information that you leaked?”

“Well,” Reyes said. The shady guys were looking less than impressed. Ryder made a mental note to call first in the future.

Keema, with great delicacy, stroked her temples. “What is the point?” she asked softly. “Please, darling. Say something so I won’t have to undermine you.”

“Just a second,” Reyes said, jovial tone tacked on with cement and prayer. He steered Ryder back out of the room. She trotted along, feeling vaguely sorry.

“So, you guys meet in-person, huh? That’s old school.”

“I missed you,” Reyes said. He drew her into what she’d assumed to be a closet--only, she realized now, with an impressive number of iron bolts sealing the door. Safe room? Maybe she shouldn't know.

She rocked up on her toes. “Aren’t you mad at me? For blowing in there?”

“My wife is never a bother.”

“Stop.” Ryder groaned. “This is what I was going to say, though. The GPS thing. We need to get them out.”

He took her hand, his thumb covering the scar, the almost unnoticeable difference in her skin. “I don’t want to.”

“Okay, but,” Ryder tried to argue while he kissed her fingers. No one had ever kissed her like that, like everywhere could be made sensitive. “I sorta. My crew. They already know about it. Okay, I blew that one. So it’s not really at the level where things can just be kept on the down-low, anymore.”

“Tell them you got it taken out.” He said against her wrist. Ryder squirmed, tickled.

“My entire ship is basically a metal detector,” she whined. “All our equipment is, uh, sensitive. There’s no way.”

“So wear an actual ring over it,” he muttered, and smoothly drew a box from his pocket.

Ryder’s mouth actually fell open. There were about a million things she wanted to say. She settled for, “You did not just pick that up somewhere.”

“I stole it.” He slid it on her hand. Ryder smiled like an idiot, trying to force away her own glee, mangled herself into sternness. Reyes bit his lip, looking up through his eyelashes at her. That manipulative shit.

“No.” Ryder covered her ears, closed her eyes, peeked anyway. “No. It’s  _gorgeous_. No! I can’t wear stolen, non-uniform bling!”

“Fine, I bought it.”

“ _With money you stole_ ,” Ryder seethed. “Unbelievable. _Unbelievable_.”

“This one has a tracker too.” Reyes informed her. Ryder was touched.

“Oh, in case my finger gets blown off?”

Reyes closed his eyes. “No, jefa, in case one of them _breaks_.”


	3. beau-frère

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes** : This is like the best morning warm up exercise.

She was followed. _Sinisterly_.

Ryder turned, wearing her stern-boss lady face. “Do you need something?”

“Sooner or later, I figure, you’re going to have to tell your brother,” Liam noted. He was snacking. Jaal was also snacking. In that moment, Ryder found them both extremely offensive.

She crossed her arms, and reported, “I don’t think I have to do anything I don’t want to.”

“That’s fine,” Liam yawned. He shrugged. Jaal seemed a little more wide-eyed than usual. “I mean, do whatever you want.”

“But good luck surviving your brother when he finds out he wasn’t invited to your wedding,” said Peebee, from the ceiling. The normal people, who preferred standing on the ground, had all instinctively thrown their backs to the walls. Ryder pressed a hand against her chest, winded. “Oh, Peebs. You’re in a vent.”

“I lost something.” Peebee reported. Ryder didn’t even want to know. There were so many things she simply _was not curious about_.

“Carry on,” Ryder decided. Jaal looked indignant. Probably because he’d been shouted at last week for taking naps in the Med-Bay.

“Wait!” Peebee shouted, now banging loudly across the ceiling as she, presumably, crawled after the retreating crew. “Don’t call Scott without me! You guys!”

“There is no wedding!” Ryder snapped, to all of them. “Why would there be a wedding? I’m already m-marrried!” She did, in fact, stutter. Time for a power stance.

Liam, not fooled, had another chip. “Ryder, of course there’s a wedding. You told Harper, she said there was gonna be a do-over, and the woman doesn’t make jokes. It’s in two days. Don’t tell me you didn’t get the email?”

“I get a lot of email.”

“She didn’t mark it as important?”

“ _I get a lot of email_.” She needed a secretary and SAM was officially fired. Could Reyes be her secretary? No, terrible idea. He’d undermine her at every turn. Unprofessional, bad fantasy. Bad Ryder. She shook her head, trying to focus. What kind of storm was brewing _now_? She hated shore leave. Vacation was never relaxing.

“I think, perhaps,” Jaal intoned, between crunching on what looked like a giant root, “It would be wise to take stock, notify the appropriate parties, and otherwise mitigate collateral damage.”

Stupid Jaal and his stupid, fancy, right-sounding words. Ryder seethed.

“I like weddings,” Jaal added brightly.

“You should really check your email,” Peebee shouted down.

* * *

Ryder approached her SAM node with terror, audience in tow. Peebee, now extremely dirty, was sniffing Jaal’s root, having proclaimed Liam’s snacks to be “synthetic constipation garbage.”

Five thousand, four hundred new email. Since yesterday. Ryder shuddered. “SAM, can you filter out the...fan mail?”

_Pathfinder, all email is relevant to Tempest missions, or otherwise has been deemed as your personal correspondence._

“No,” Ryder whispered. “ _No_. Fine. Just...just tell me what Cora wants.”

SAM paused for a moment. Her screens lit up, suddenly, with a color-coded spreadsheet, with no less than six tabs. It was the stuff of nightmares. Ryder recoiled.

“This is depressing,” Peebee noted. “I wanted family drama!”

Ryder was officially stressed the fuck out. “Can you just. SAM. Can you just _help me_?”

_Affirmative. I am capable of handling two-thirds of all assigned tasks without user oversight. If the Pathfinder grants permission for my autonomy while undertaking these tasks—_

“Yes.”

_I shall proceed with organizing and relaying the most pressing missions are requested by Cora Harper._

The spreadsheet disappeared, to be replaced with _Objective One: Call Scott Ryder._

There were giggles from the gallery, as well as more loud snacking. Ryder glared over her shoulder. It sucked being the baby of the crew. It sucked so bad. “Fine,” she growled. “ _Fine_. Call him.” She prepared herself to yell. It was better to take an offensive approach than to endure family guilt which was _pretty rich in her opinion_ _—_

“Hey sister,” Scott’s voice clicked through, filling her room in perfect surround sound. Ryder ground her teeth, somehow even more aggravated by the friendly greeting.

“Hey. I’m getting married!” she shouted.

“What?”

“It’s in two days. I’ll send you the details. I should also tell you that it already happened. I already got married, technically. I eloped, Scott, I _eloped_ , okay?”

“Who the hell married _you_?” Scott jeered. Ryder unconsciously bared her teeth. A laugh she didn’t actually know she was capable of producing escaped her. It was the sort of laugh one emitted while buying a mortal enemy’s estate at desperately reduced value.

“Reyes Vidal—”

“No.”

“—crime syndicate founder—”

“ _No_.”

“—intergalactic philanderer—”

“NO!”

“—and my drink of choice,” Ryder finished, with obscene relish. “Be there or be square, moron.” And she signed off, feeling smug. That went pretty well.

“Gross,” Peebee observed, spitting out Jaal’s root.

 


	4. manucure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Magpie Bridge's next chapter is being uploaded later today before y'all get up on me for paying more attention to my crack-fic I mean favorite child I mean I love equally I MEAN.

“Find something for Drack to do,” Cora ordered. She was getting very bossy. Ryder, fascinated by the efficiency with which her manicurist was painting Pathfinding toenails, snapped around.

“Drack? I mean, sure. Whatever. It’s your wedding.”

“It’s _your_ wedding,” Cora snarled. “I am just helping. And he feels left out.”

“What? Shut up.” Ryder glowered. “He does not. He does not feel left out, he doesn’t give a shit is what he feels. Which is well and good because I already got married and this whole thing is a sham.” She paused, and then added for the manicurists’ benefit. “We totally already boned.”

Cora turned on the stink eye. “You don’t know Drack as well as you think you do. You’ve hurt his feelings, leaving him out.”

“Unfair,” Ryder shouted. “ _Unfair_! You decided what everyone was supposed to be doing! Including me. I don’t even know where I am right now. I really, truly, could not tell you the name of this fine establishment.”

“Oh, it’s _French Manicuré_. With the little thing on the E,” the nail artist chimed in. She smiled brightly. “Please be sure to mention us!”

Ryder turned back. She had galactic nails. The whole goddamn Milky Way, sun to Pluto, in 3D shimmer holographic. As someone who usually barely even _had_ fingernails given what she regularly put them through, she felt she was gazing upon an impressive effort. “Holy shit,” Ryder told the nail artist, who beamed at her.

Cora tore in. “I said the theme was blue and white.”

Ryder looked up. “What? Why?”

“It matches our uniforms.”

“ _Ugh_.” Ryder shook her hands around. “Don’t take my manicuré away from me.”

“Cure. Mani _cure_ . It doesn’t get more French if you add in some accents. _Talk to Drack_ ,” Cora ordered, and stormed away.

“Wow,” said the nail artist, who was now dusting a fine blue film over offensive, red Mars. Ryder leaned forward, expression significant.

“Seriously. At least she’s working it off. That one time I took her job from her? Spent three months waiting for her to leave me literally in the lurch off some cliff edge.”

The nail artist nodded sympathetically. “Who’s Drack? If he’s a dude maybe you could just have him be part of the wedding party.” She leaned forward to whisper, “Most guys think they have contributed just by showing up.” She turned to stare viciously at a male co-worker who was relaxing in a massage recliner, flipping through a fashion magazine.

* * *

“Drack,” Ryder started. It was a good start. She definitely knew his name.

The old Krogan grunted. “Need something?”

“I have a favor to ask,” Ryder began. She had been inspired by her wise nail-stylist’s pep talk, and felt in that glorious, fume-filled moment that she had discovered the perfect fit for Drack’s participation grade. And yet now that the moment was upon her, Ryder founder herself unexpectedly shy—already wheedling. This wouldn’t do. She tried to stand a little straighter. “So. My dad’s dead.”

Drack stared at her mutely. This was not an ideal start. Ryder tried again. “In, uh, in human weddings there’s this really dumb, really old thing where the dad, um, escorts the bride to her groom. Down the aisle. It’s to signify that the bride’s being given away. Although I guess there are gay weddings too where there are zero brides to be found but, um, but _the idea_ is that the dad or uncle or other paternal figure—”

“Hang on,” Drack interrupted, now raising one gigantic hand. Ryder’s mouth snapped shut. “I’ve seen the vids,” Drack grumbled. “Kesh used to show me. She thought it was stupid but she also seemed interested, if you ask me. Anyway, I know what you’re talking about.”

“You _do_ !” Ryder blinked. “Wow, okay. You do. So, um. _So_ , will you...will you walk me down the aisle?” she said the last part as quickly as possible, and looked fixedly at Drack’s left shoulder plate. Did Krogan even get embarrassed? Maybe he didn’t even understand why she was acting this way. Bracing herself for rebuke or rightful scoffing, Ryder looked Drack fully in the face. It didn’t help that even at rest, Drack still looked like he was about to kill someone.

He wasn’t speaking. Ryder forced herself not to make a stupid joke. Eventually, Drack’s heavy hand fell on Ryder’s shoulder. “You ain’t gotta worry kid,” Drack growled. “You might not be Krogan but you’re family, with all the fights we’ve been through. I’ve got your back.”

Ryder swallowed. She was torn between nervous laughter and overwhelming gratitude. “Thanks, Drack.”

Drack grunted. “Don’t think it’s so strange, or know why you’re making these excuses. Fathers are usually the biggest, and you’re performing a ritual showing that you’re swapping families. Why wouldn’t you want to show that your back-up is the biggest and toughest guy in your clan? That’s just basic negotiation tactics.”

Ryder considered explaining sexism, the patriarchy, and other horrible things. Instead she imagined Reyes fighting Drack. “Yeah, you know, you raise some excellent points.”

“You picked the right guy,” Drack agreed. He sort of sneered. Maybe it was a smile. “Your claws look nice by the way.”

“Humans have nails, Drack.” Ryder tried. She reexamined her glue-ons, which were a full half-inch longer than normal. “Well, maybe. _Claws_. Yeah, thanks.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Le Tourbillon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11612880) by [AgathaCrispy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgathaCrispy/pseuds/AgathaCrispy)




End file.
